


_Quick 2

by glenarvon



Series: _Brilliancy [19]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Monologue, POV First Person, Street Racing, cluster-f-bombs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:59:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2447864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glenarvon/pseuds/glenarvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A driver in an illegal street race gives — a slightly drunken — account of events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	_Quick 2

**Author's Note:**

> Please see series' notes.

[this takes place at some indeterminable point during the game, or possibly afterward. probably not during the nicky thing.]

* * *

You think I look banged up? Should've seen me five days ago. Yeah, exactly, when the blackout happened. Yeah, I was there. If you buy me a drink, buddy. No, I'm not too deep in drink already, who do you think I am? 

Can you turn down that noise? Why's a bar need a TV anyway? If we liked to watch this shit we'd get drunk at home. 

Right, so, well. I'm doing these driving gigs, right? Good money, helluva a lot of fun, too. Yeah, Gerry's sponsoring me. Was, anyway, or something, it's still out. Like, everyone's a bit spooked after that time. 

It all started harmlessly enough, like, you know, everyday. Sponsors emptied a bucket of cash over the cops, the _right kind_ of cops, so they'd keep their fingers out of it, at least as long as it doesn't get too big. Illegal street races, my ass. It's not really illegal when the cops are in on it, is it? Can't be. These guys are the law. Shit if I know.

Where was I?

Ah, yeah, so there's Swift. Used to call him Swift. Damn good driver, too. Always hated having to drive against him, because it's not one of those ironic nicknames that sometimes happen. Like calling a big guy Tiny, you know? No, this guy's _fast_. Like he's riding a unicorn. No idea, man, that's how he described it, once. Pompous ass. But Swift wasn't in the race, had an accident. Natural cause, obviously, fell into a bullet. Happens a lot around here. Where the hell is my drink?

Got a new driver. I dunno who's backing Swift. Never seen the guy. Probably makes no difference. Got an opening, new driver jumps in, seen it before. These guys don't last, usually. If you aren't in the race from the start, there's probably a reason for it. 

New driver has a custom, black Vespid 5.2, so he's not a total noob, anyway. The Vespid's a bit slower than most of the others, but it's a solid car and urban racing isn't all about speed. Just gets you smeared on a wall when you miss a corner.

Never seen this dude around, though. Neither the car. I thought maybe he's from out of town or something, just moved here because of some heat elsewhere. Well, top seats are all already taken in Chicago. I thought, that is. Driver guy's creepy, you know the type. All silent and intense, like he's all above your shit. 

No, didn't even see his face clearly. What do you think? I'm not some fag, checking out other guys. Wore a baseball cap and his collar up, though, couldn't see much even if I wanted to… 

Ah, drink. Took you long enough. What've you doing? Growing grapes? 

_Pissing in it._

Haha fucking ha. I know where you live, buddy. 

Creepy driver guy just hangs around before the race starts, glued to his phone, spares us all no look. 

Earlier that day, Gerry's taken me aside to tell me something's up tonight, looked worried, Gerry did. Never seen him look like that, but I don't know any of Gerry's business and it's much healthier that way, too. He pays my bills, I drive for him, good deals all around. 

So Gerry's worried. After Swift, I get that. Because it's not enough, it starts to rain. It's never a bad race until it rains. I've been there. Good thing this global warming shit means we barely get any ice on the road anymore. Drivers die like flies, then. Sort of the point, come to think of it. Like darwinism. 

We draw lots for starting places. Stupid antiquated way, but no one ever listens to us, down in the mud, right? Right. 

I get lucky. It's so much easier starting from the front, let me tell you. Race kicks off on the freeway, good early stretch, gives you some decent speed before you get your head in the game on the city streets. Three cars wide, five deep.  

So, pole position's always good. Gives you an edge. You've only got two other guys to worry about for the start and you can leave them right behind you if you're fast enough. After that, all you've got to do is ride it home. 

The new guy draws a position far behind. Like second to last row, but my lane. He's still too good to say anything, though. I hope he comes home without his teeth. 

Just saying! I can't stand those arrogant pricks. 

Do you even know how urban races work? Do you? Buy me another and I'll explain it you. I'll use small words, too, so you can follow me. So. Drink!

Anyway, urban races. They don't have like a course or anything. Couldn't mark it on the city streets. Instead, you'll get a start point and an end point, how you get from one to the other's all your own problem. Means you've got to have drivers with a bit of brain, too. You need to know where you're going beforehand, then get there. 

Usually, there's like one or two good routes, on the big streets, but of course that's also where traffic is thickest so drivers try not to pack that closely. 

Aaaand there's my drink. You know, it looks a bit like piss.

_Why's that, you recon?_

Shut up. Not getting a rise out of me so easily. 

I get off on a good start, field well behind me before we dive into the city. Traffic's thick, though, can't go as fast as I like to, need to adjust my course, too. Got blocked on my preferred route, some useless bit of road construction popping up out of nowhere. City should post about these on their website, would make life so much easier. Got two of the others tailing me, too, hanging out in my slipstream. Lost sight of the black Vespid for a bit there. 

When I see it again, it's flying. I'm not shitting you! I didn't say it grew wings, damn! Comes over a bridge from the right, must have taken one hell of a detour just to get there that way. Bridge is getting down and I'm not actually paying it any attention because I'm weaving through traffic at nearly 100mph, heading for the traffic lights. You know, how you get like one tiny moment when the crossroads is empty? Because one's already on red and the others haven't sped up yet? That's my opening and I'm going to be hitting that crossroads perfectly. 

But then the Vespid jumps the fucking open bridge, lands in the middle of the crossroads, it makes a tight little spin, that's not even drift, man, fucking car turns like a ballet dancer, brakes howling and the tyres smearing all over the asphalt and it shoots down the lane in _my_ fucking opening, right ahead of me. 

Except, that's when the traffic lights go crazy and everyone's rushing the crossroads from all directions! One of the fuckers catches my back fender and shoves me into one of these ridiculous compact cars. It's a blue car, I'll remember that forever. Weird. Little fucker's bad enough to do some damage, put a bad dent in my ride. Bumped my elbow.

On the plus side, lost the slipstream guys in the pileup. 

But I can't wait it out, not now.  I don't even look back. Every man for himself and all that. I still see that damn Vespid's taillights just ahead of me. My car's faster than that, I know. I step on the gas and I love my car! Beautiful 336-TT. Shoots like lightning!

God, _no_ that's not a euphemism! What are you? Gay?

It takes a bit to catch up with that fucker. He's going for the direct way, I can tell. Not a whole lot to worry about for a bit. Just two more crossroads before we are down in Brandon Docks. Gives me a moment to think, that. 

What was I thinking, you ask?

Ha ha, yeah, I know how to do that. You know, if you don't want to hear anymore, I'm good just drinking in silence…

See, not so hard. Here we go. 

So Brandon Docks means we are now pretty close to the finish line. And if you've ever been down there, you know there are far less good routes left. During the day, you could cut through company premises, but they're all locked up tight at night. Would bring the cops down on us, so no one does that sort of shit. God-fucking-damn Vespid and it's asshole driver do it, though, twice. Ass. Hole. 

But I'll get to that. I was telling you what I noticed. You see, because of what it's like and because it's pretty close to the finish, everyone left in the game comes back together. You see all the fuckers again you've lost in the city, trying to come back in in front of you. 

This time. This one fucking time, there's just the Vespid. And me, of course. There's _no one else._ Think on that for a moment. Because I did. I mean, there's always _some_ loss along the way. Never been in a race where everyone's made it. But I sure as hell were never in the race where it's just two guys. 

I finally catch up to the Vespid. Up close, car looks pretty wasted, messed up bumper and trailing a bit of dark smoke. It's not on fire, seen this before, this car's not quite breaking down yet. Probably cost a shitload to fix later, though. 

I catch up, just in time for the next traffic light. And you know what happens? You know? The _same fucking thing!_ Thing malfunctions big time and all the cars of four directions pile up on me while the Vespid gets clear just about. It's fewer cars here than before, so I managed to get through, screaming metal on metal and all. Something blows up, I can see it my rear-view mirror. Some poor fucker's really not having a good day back there. 

The Vespid's fishtailing a bit. My guess is, some axis deformation throwing it off-kilter and that's my chance, right there. All weight back on the gas, full throttle and I finally get even with the Vespid. I'm on the left lane, could go bad quickly if there's oncoming traffic. I don't have a whole lot of options to evade. Dammit, I think, if I go out, I'll just swipe this stupid Vespid off the road with me. Looks like my car can take the hit better than his, anyway. Nothing comes. In hindsight, I should have taken the chance, but can't help it now. 

I'm finally in front. At this point, I can't be sure I'm really in the lead, but I'm good. I made good time, not a lot of waste along the way other then the weird crossroads shit and that little detour before, nothing I can't catch. 

The Vespid can't keep up at this point, I can tell it tries for a moment, fishtails harder and then begins to fall back. I catch it swerve to the right, though, and I think it's about to crash into one of the premise gates, but the damn thing just swings open! 

You know, I swallow a lot of coincidence. I've never being paid enough to worry about it, but this shit? Traffic lights, I get. Damn things malfunction all the time, but private companies keep their security tighter than that. I still don't get it, no idea what was going on that night. 

At the time, I can't really waste much time on it, either. Street's winding ahead of me, pretty damn narrow so I better get my head back there, before some useless concrete boulder materialises in front of me. 

So, I'm actually dumb enough to think I've made it. Half a mile to the finish, if I could go by beeline, but it's still pretty good and no sight of any competition. 

That is, you guessed it, until the black Vespid from hell just comes out of nowhere, from between staked containers. I almost didn't see it. It's broken most of it's lights. It slithers right in front of me and accelerates away and I let it go because I'm kind of in shock. Not like I couldn't catch it or anything.

I'm not an idiot, either. So next time the little motherfucker tries the gate thing, I think to myself _fuck it_ and I just glue myself to his tail. Turns out to be a middling good idea. It's gravel paths there and the Vespid's got the better grip on those and I have no interest in smashing into a steel container at full speed. Bad enough I still got an aching elbow from that first collision. 

For now, I just keep up, Vespid goes where I want to and I know we've got another bit of straight street where I can take it no problem. Thing is, as we're heading back there, the gate begins to close right in front of me. Vespid through, gate closing. Scratched my car up pretty bad on all sides, nearly got stuck, too. Could have torn a tyre on the things and that would've been it for me. 

Vespid's used the chance to gain some distance and it's down to the last bit, one more corner and the finish line. Never deserved it better than this one, seriously. 

Next drink. I need another drink for that part. Seriously. 

Because next thing that happens is, my phone stars vibrating. Don't laugh at me! I keep the thing in my back-pocket. I didn't think of it! No one I know is dumb enough to call when I'm in a race. I'd go find them and make them eat their phones. 

_Did you enjoy getting your ass vibed?_

Give me the drink and piss the fuck off! 

Distracted the hell out of me, and no, _not_ the hell _that way,_ but there is that turn coming up and I kind of get my priorities backward, because it's like this race is haunted, right. Can pull your cool out right under your feet. So I'm angling for the phone and I've only got one hand on the wheel and I should have one on the handbrake because that corner's a mean motherfucker all its own. 

I crash into a site fence. Doesn't do much new damage, but tangles me up anyway. I bring the car back on the road and I think that I could still catch the black Vespid. It doesn't get much straight speed and I can still catch up to it. 

And yes, my friend, that's when the blackout hit. And I mean _hit._ CtOS box just blows up right at my side, sparks flying and shit. You know that sound that electricity makes? Like a whip. Gonna dream of that for a while. Brandon Docks goes pitch-black from one moment to the next, with just the flying sparks all around.

And like, some little shit of an idiot put up some tanks _right_ by the damn box. Shit, I could have died right there…

Explosion gets hold of my car and throws it around. Can't see straight and shit's going down fucking fast, man. I crash into something hard and I've got the time to think that this is bad, it's the bad one. 

Smells like burning rubber. 

My head hits the steering wheel and I go out like the fucking lights. 

In the end, I _walk_ to the finish line. Isn't far and everyone's a bit confused by that point. Juice still isn't there and as you know, took like a day for it, fire did some damage to the net or something. So everything looks pretty eerie, lit by just phone-flashlights and cars. 

The Vespid's smouldering on it's own just behind the finish and the driver faces off against some of the sponsors. Gerry's there, too. Gives me one hell of an evil eye. But what the hell was I supposed to do? It was like driving against the whole damn city!

"It's an illegal street race," the driver pointed out, gravelly voiced all level and shit, like he isn't talking to big time mob money right there. "Which rules did I break?"

The sponsors don't have much of a good argument for that. Looking around, it's what I thought. I'm the only other driver in the finish at all, even if I come without my car. 

I heard from some of the others. One got lost on a detour, but all of the others had some freak accidents. Traffic lights, road blockers, evil bridges. One got blown to hell by a rupturing steam pipe. And I mean that literally. Guys like us, we don't get to go to Heaven. 

Technically, there are no rules against winning because your opponents all suffer weird accidents. Not like he's caused them, right? Or, yeah, well. Wake up and smell the bullshit. Race was rigged from the start, mark my words. 

"I win?" driver asshole asks, all calm-like. He knows he has. What you gonna tell him? No, shit, obviously one of those who didn't make it won? Not like they couldn't force exactly that kind of decision, but it'd, well, it'd look bad. Driver asshole's right, there aren't _rules_ as such, but gunning him down now would make everyone look like sour losers, especially in front of the others. 

Gerry looks like he's about to tear him a new one, but doesn't. Looks like backing down from where I'm standing, but I've never seen Gerry do that, so it must've been something else. Gerry doesn't get _stared down._

"If this is your first _and_ last race," Gerry concedes. 

"Don't do me any favours," driver asshole says. 

"Yeah yeah, get outta here before I change my mind."

He doesn't right away. Pulls one hand from his pocket, calls someone.

I've managed to hobble closer. Gerry's going to give me an earful, and then he'll wait until I'm all healed up to punch me out again, I just know it. Couldn't he take it out on the deserving party?

Driver catches my gaze. Must have stared at him, couldn't help it. What the fuck was wrong with this guy? What the hell _is he?_ Looks a bit familiar, now that I'm looking straight at him. Seen him around? I'm not sure, I'm _still_ not sure. I'd remember him.

"Not bad," he tells me, wandering past, puts the phone to his ear and then dismisses me completely. Arrogant… fucking…asshole _motherfucker._ Yes, despite the damn compliment. That was just driving the point home! How stupid are you? 

I hear a bit of the conversation he has on the phone. Kind of reassuring he's like that to everyone, right?

_"That's what you get. You wanted me to win the race, I won the race. No thanks to your backmarker. — No, I don't work for 'shits and giggles', Jordi. — Oh, did I? As long as you can't prove it, it's not a freebie."_

So that's it. My story of the urban blackout race. Bit of a misnomer, if you ask me. Just got a blackout at the end, like a finale or something. 

Got a concussion and I'm out of a job, more than likely, because Gerry's all kinds of pissed. All the others are, too. I'm not going to work in this town again. Which is funny, isn't? Because I'm like the only one who even got to the finish, the others don't get nearly as much flag. Like it's worse to trip on the last step. And don't go telling me I wasn't tripped. That was some fucked up shit going on right there…

 _Holyshitthat'shim!_ On the news! Turn it up, will you? I need to hear this!

He's the… ? Fuuck. Oh god, oh shit. I definitely need another drink now. I was driving against _him?_ Damn… I bet Gerry's relieved he didn't try him, though. Gotta gloat about this later, definitely going to be worth it. 

Still, makes you wonder, what that race could've been like? How much _worse_ it could've been? I play poker with some Fixers sometimes, now there are guys with _true_ horror stories, I swear.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Reference:** Quick 8 are the fastest 8 in a drag race.
> 
>  **Author's Note:** I don't know anything about motorsports. I know very little about cars. I made 'urban street racing' up, but it seems like a viable way to do it.
> 
> It was fun writing in this way (I've wanted to try it in forever, but didn't have a good scenario until now.) Thank you for reading! I hope you had some fun doing that!
> 
> This marks my first attempt posting to AO3. Fanfiction.net has been rubbing me wrong for a while now, maybe this is a better option. We'll see.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Revised on 31/May/2015**


End file.
